


Fracture

by laireshi



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Dark Steve, Evil Steve, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 16:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7323130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve splays his fingers on Tony's chest, over his heart, and Tony whimpers. "You should take better care of that, Tony," Steve says, digging his fingers in briefly.</p><p>Tony closes his eyes. "Don't."</p><p>Steve laughs, and it's cold. He trails his fingers lower. “I could hurt you,” he says, almost conversationally. “I'm a criminal now, remember.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fracture

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for beta, [Comicsohwhyohwhy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/comicsohwhyohwhy). I BLAME YOU OKAY.
> 
> This is an extremely dark!Steve. Mind the warnings, please. I saw [this post](http://krusca.tumblr.com/post/144118469358/johanirae-looking-through-the-art-of-captain) and well, I had to. 
> 
> Um, also a fill for the "anger issues" square on my stevetony bingo card.

Tony tenses when he goes into his office and finds Steve there.

He bites back the instinctive jab, _come to finish the job?_ because he doesn't actually want to fight Steve. Never did. He hoped Steve would contact him—and now he's here, so it has to mean something, right, things between them still _can_ be fixed. Dream big, Stark, what's one more disappointment? 

Steve has on a black uniform more reminiscent of secret ops than Captain America. Tony couldn't bring himself to delete Steve's security profile, so he still has access to the compound, but his posture is that of a fighter, as if he had been prepared to force his way in. He doesn't look like he's there to talk peace.

Not that that would even be on the table. It's a miracle Tony's out of jail himself. A miracle that will come back to haunt him later, he's sure of it—the only reason Ross let him go was that he still believed Tony would be _useful_. Tony doesn't want to be useful. But if that's stopping Ross from looking for his—not his, _never_ his, really—for the Avengers, well, Tony will play the role, no matter how much it'll make him hate himself.

Steve has to realise it, so why is he there?

“Hi,” Tony says when the silence gets to be too much.

“Hi,” Steve says back, biting. “Is that what you've got to say after putting your friends in jail, _Tony_?” He hadn't said Tony's name since Berlin, and now it sounds wrong, Tony thinks it should be an insult, but it sounds more like a caress. It's throwing Tony off; he can't begin to guess at what it's about.

Steve stands up and prowls over to Tony, his face dark, his expression too much like it was in Siberia. Their height difference suddenly more pronounced, Steve fucking _leans_ over him, his forearm on the wall next to Tony's head. Tony's heart flutters wildly in fear.

Normally, Tony would have a quip ready. Normally, Tony would joke. Normally, Tony would ask, _That forward, Captain? Private space, you know_.

But Tony can't say anything and his throat is dry as he watches Steve's eyes, almost completely black.

“You're all about consequences, aren't you,” Steve snarls suddenly. “So _pay for your sins, Tony_.”

“They broke the law,” Tony snarls right back, Clint's insults still fresh in his mind. “They knew—you knew what you were all doing, I fucking begged you—”

Steve backhands him.

“Will you beg me now?” Steve asks, and kisses him. 

It's not as if Tony _doesn't_ want this, really, and Steve seems to know that. It's Steve. Of course Tony wants everything he can offer. Everything but the silence after Siberia.

Steve turns him around, presses Tony's face into the wall, bites on his shoulder through his shirt. It hurts. 

“Hands back,” Steve orders, and Tony doesn't want to, prefers to be able to move freely, and yet he obediently crosses his wrists behind his back and lets Steve tie them with something rough to the touch. For a split second, Tony's almost scared that's it, Steve only kissed him to distract him, to mock his weakness, but then Steve flips him back around and kisses him again, sharp, biting, drawing blood. It's nothing like the kisses Tony hoped for. It's all he's going to get, so it's enough.

Steve trails his hand down Tony's neck, shoulder, grabs Tony's shirt in both hands and rips it apart, and a protest dies on Tony's lips. _He wants this_. _He loves Steve, still after everything, probably always will_. And Steve is angry, but he would never actually hurt Tony, right?

That's the one constant value Tony's sure of. 

Steve presses his hand into Tony's neck, and Tony wants to reach out and stop him and can't, his hands behind him. 

“You _broke the Avengers apart_ ,” Steve says, “won't you take responsibility for that at least?”

Tony opens his mouth and closes it. His vision swims. He can't deny the accusations. If only he'd planned better—hadn't been so trusting—if only he'd _been_ better, none of this would've ever happened. Steve's right. This is his fault. Just like Ultron.

Steve finally eases off the pressure on Tony's throat, and Tony gasps for breath. He's shivering. It's what he wanted, Tony tells himself, and if he knows he's convincing himself of a different thing entirely, well, it doesn't matter. Steve's hands are bruising, not caring, but they're Steve's, and that's important. Tony tells himself to lean into his touch. He used to dream of this.

Steve splays his fingers on Tony's chest, over his heart, and Tony whimpers. "You should take better care of that, Tony," Steve says, digging his fingers in briefly.

Tony closes his eyes. "Don't."

Steve laughs, and it's cold. He trails his fingers lower. “I could hurt you,” he says, almost conversationally. “I'm a criminal now, remember.”

Tony's no longer sure he _wouldn't_. Steve's other hand lifts Tony's head up and it's five points of pain where his fingers dig under Tony's jaw, hard.

“Do you want me to hurt you, Tony?” Steve asks.

It's nothing more than he deserves, Tony thinks, and Steve's lips on his are unyielding, silencing anything Tony might say.

What he wanted has never been important.

Steve reaches down to Tony's belt and Tony instinctively jerks back. This close to the wall, he only manages to hit his shoulders, and he curses. He could call the armour. He _should_. Steve said it himself: he's a criminal. Tony should bring him in. Tony's always been shit at doing what he has to, though.

Steve puts his hand in Tony's hair and pulls. “Running away?” he asks.

Tony's eyes sting. He wishes his hands were free so he'd have some semblance of control. “I could do this all day,” he spits instead, and it's a mistake, the words carry too much weight, and Tony feels as if snow and ice of Siberia settled on his skin forever.

“Careful what you wish for,” Steve says, and finally wrestles Tony's trousers open, pushes them down along with his boxers. Tony gasps as the cool air hits him, and then Steve takes him in hand without bothering to pull his gloves off. 

Tony reminds himself he _likes_ it rough and arches up into Steve's touch. Really, the whole scene is straight from his fantasies, except how the feelings don't seem to be there, and—he chides himself. He's not a teenager dreaming about starlight, he should know better by now. There are only monsters among the stars.

Steve strokes him a few more times until he's half-hard before removing his hand and pulling a small bottle out of his pocket, and Tony laughs. “I see you came prepared,” he says.

“It's not as if you'd tell me no.” Steve's face is a parody of smile. 

Tony's face burns with shame.

“You were always so desperate for approval,” Steve tells him, and he doesn't wait for the lube to warm up, just reaches behind Tony and pushes two fingers at once inside him. He must've pulled off his gloves at some point; small mercies, but Tony bites back a scream all the same. Steve's hands are big. “Is that why you sold us out, because I never touched you? Or did you do that for Ross too?”

“Fuck you,” Tony says. _I did it for you, to help, I did everything for you_. Not that it matters, since he also failed at everything, and here Steve is, a wanted man, pressing a half-naked Tony against the wall.

“Not quite,” Steve mocks, and twists his fingers. Tony could sob with it. He wants Steve to take his time, at least a bit of care to make this comfortable for Tony. He wants him to get it over with already. It can't get worse. 

And to think Tony had thought, if only for a second, that Steve came here to _fix_ things.

Steve puts in a third finger. Tony tells himself to relax, breathe in, breathe out, slowly. Then Steve kisses him, runs his tongue over Tony's lips, and licks a stripe down his cheek. “You look pretty like that,” he says.

Tony's panting in more pain than anything else, and feels all but pretty. 

Steve pulls out his fingers. Only now does he open his own uniform, just his fly, really, takes himself out and strokes slowly; he's hard already. There's Captain America, in a black body suit, just his cock out, and Tony wants to cry. This wasn't supposed to be like this.

After a few moments, Steve lifts Tony up, effortlessly, and it should be hot how easily he can manhandle Tony. (He didn't even need to do that, Tony presented his hands to be tied himself.) Tony wraps his legs around Steve's waist, because he wants this.

Steve enters him in a sharp move, and Tony bites on his lip to stop himself from screaming. Steve's hands are on his hips, his grip bruising, and Tony just mentally adds it to the array of injures he's still sporting after Siberia. 

“I was trying to keep you safe,” Tony gasps out, after a particularly brutal thrust knocks the air out of him. 

“Shouldn't you be thinking of how you never knew me at all, _friend_?” Steve says, and it might be the only true thing he's said all evening.

Tony still can't hate him.

He moans when Steve adjusts his angle, Tony's cock slowly growing fully hard, and Tony isn't even sure if he wants to come or not. He wants it to end and to pretend Steve cares and he knows he's been stuck in a nightmare since long before Siberia. 

Steve doesn't even break a sweat, but his lips are red, kiss-swollen now, and his eyes are still wide and dark, and Tony leans in and kisses him, to be able to say it was his choice when faced with his mirror reflection in the morning. 

Steve huffs a laugh as if he knows what Tony's thinking, but doesn't push him away, doesn't even stop fucking into him. It should be so intimate, but it's just a violation, and it's that thought that finally breaks Tony, and tears stream down his cheeks.

Steve doesn't notice or doesn't care.

He changes his grip on Tony as if to hold him better, and then he carries Tony a few steps to the right. He pushes him on the desk. It should be better, but it isn't, because now Steve can just focus all of his terrible strength on Tony, into every hard thrust. Tony's arms _hurt_. Tony wishes Steve turned him around so his hands could rest, and most of all so he wouldn't have to meet Steve's eyes and still try to look for affection.

Steve wipes Tony's tears away.

It makes him cry harder. He's pathetic. “Please,” he begs, finally, “Steve, stop—”

Steve hits him then and Tony tastes blood in his mouth. Steve watches him, almost transfixed, for a second, and then he comes as he kisses Tony.

It lasts too long until he finally steps back, slips out of Tony. Tony's cock is still hard, and the small mercy is Steve doesn't touch him again. He turns Tony around, unties his wrists, his touches almost clinical, as if he doesn't care Tony's a broken mess now, fresh bruises forming and Steve's come on his ass and tears still streaming down his face, his breath coming in sobs.

“So caring,” Tony snarls, and Steve hits him with the rope once, a line of fire over Tony's thighs. Tony falls silent. 

“I'll be breaking them out,” Steve says like he's commenting on the weather and not telling Tony he's going to break the law after—after . . . Tony shakes his head to stop this trail of thoughts. Steve sets something next to Tony's face, and even through his blurry vision Tony recognizes a mobile phone. 

He wants to laugh or cry more or scream at this final insult, and then Steve leaves without another word, leaving Tony aching and filthy in his own office, and it's the burner phone that he left with him that hurts Tony most of all.

He should break it, but he already knows he won't.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has a tumblr post, [here](https://laireshi.tumblr.com/post/146576662317/fracture).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [patchwork](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8310166) by [deadeyeboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadeyeboy/pseuds/deadeyeboy)




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